by Dan Avera
She rises slowly to her feet and begins to walk, the soft grass flattening with a rustle beneath her footsteps. The butterflies swarm her, dancing around her hand and torso, and then they flit off into the distance toward the oak, a long line of brilliant color. She feels a light shove on her back and turns around. Thousands more butterflies are behind her, and like a living throne they lift her into the air and carry her to the tree. They stop at the edge of the tree's shade and lower her gently to the ground. Soon they are gone.
A man sits with his back against the great trunk of the oak; like her, he is naked. His body is corded with muscle, and he bears ragged scars on his arm, thigh, and face. He has short dark hair, and his brilliant blue eyes are set in a face that, despite the wounds, she finds breathtakingly beautiful. His eyes are kind, familiar. He smiles. She feels like she should know him, but she cannot remember his name.
“We all have scars,” the man says, indicating her own, and suddenly she is ashamed and worried that he will think less of her for her ugliness. She covers herself in embarrassment. The man stands and takes a slow step toward her. “There is no need for that,” he says, his voice soft. He touches his own scars. “These are a badge of shame—of my own shortcomings.” He is close now, but he does not leave the shadow of the oak. He brushes the backs of his fingers across her abdomen, trailing them lightly across the scar there, and then takes her hand and pulls her out of the sunlight. “Yours are a badge of heroism. You saved someone. Do you remember?”
She slowly shakes her head and pulls her hand from his, hiding the blight on her palm against her chest.
“Can you speak?”
She opens her mouth, but is unable to form words. She shakes her head again.
He reaches up gently, and his fingers slide between her scarred hand and the skin of her breast. A thrill runs through her. He pulls her hand away, exposing her, but she is no longer afraid. He traces his fingertips along her mangled palm and then raises it to his mouth, but when he presses his lips to the wound she cannot feel them through the dead flesh.
Then, when he pulls away, the scar is gone. Her eyes widen.
“It was me,” he says, and suddenly she remembers. “You saved my life twice. Why is that?”
She opens her mouth to speak again. “L...” The sound is choked, halted, and she struggles to complete it.
He smiles encouragingly.
“Lo...” Her brow furrows in concentration, and then, suddenly, she can speak. “Love,” she gasps. “I did it...for love.”
His eyes seem to glow. She moves forward abruptly, urged by an impulse deep inside of her, and embraces him, resting her head on his shoulder. She feels his strong arms encircle her, and she melts against his warm skin. After a moment she looks up at him. He is smiling, and she smiles too.
“Do you know who I am now?” he asks.
“Will,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“And you?” he says. “Do you know who you are?”
“Clare,” she answers.
“Yes.”
She buries her face against his shoulder, and his hand comes up to stroke her hair. “Why am I here?” she asks softly.
“Because you need to be,” he answers.
“Am I dead?”
“No.” He pauses. “But you are dying.”
~
Will was shrouded in darkness. The weak light from the moon and stars barely even penetrated this deeply into the forest, and the lanterns and torches were the only source of illumination. They cast flickering orange shadows across the ground and made the spidery tree branches that surrounded them seem alive with malevolence.
They had long ago entered a tunnel in the forest; its walls and ceiling were made entirely of trees with branches so thick that it would have been impossible to escape through the top or sides. And the birches had given way to something else—tall, wide sentinels made of rough bark and thorny boughs. Strangely, though, the path Will walked on was free of fallen leaves or thorns. His feet touched only soft earth.
A short distance ahead walked Serah, still serene and relaxed as before. Jhai and Zizo walked to either side of her and several steps behind, their postures easy like hers. Will knew he should take comfort in the lack of concern the Titan and her men were exhibiting, but he couldn't. The forest around him was too eerie, too silent. The trees were poised like guardians waiting for the order to strike, and the fear that their master would give the command was never far from Will's thoughts.
“How is she?” Castor whispered, breaking the oppressive silence and indicating Clare. She still rode in the litter, her condition worsening steadily. Will could barely hear her breath anymore when he bent close, and her skin was as cold as a corpse's and clammy to the touch. The only signs of life were her eyes, which now twitched spasmodically beneath their lids. Will did not know whether this new movement was a good sign or a bad one. He had seen many wounded men fall victim to fever dreams just before death, and such memories did nothing to comfort him.
He shook his head as he gazed at her. “Worse. And dreaming, I think.” He took a deep breath, the air tasting bitter to his fearful tongue. “I hope we get there soon.”
Grim, padding soundlessly beside him, let out a low whine and Will scratched him behind the ears. “Big brute, isn't he?” Castor asked, indicating the warhound. “But oddly sensitive.”
Will smiled and tickled his fingers over the top of Grim's muzzle. “And smart, too,” he said. “I can't imagine how the Westlanders came up with such a great combination. Clare said he was part wolf, part wolfhound. I wonder what a wolfhound looks like...” He trailed off, his mind veering from its brief stray to thoughts of Clare once again.
Suddenly Grim butted his head against Will's hand and growled. Will, startled, looked up and saw that Serah had stopped and was now facing the left wall of the tunnel with her arms outstretched. A ring of soft yellow light appeared in the wall before her, accompanied by a low, pulsing hum, and as Will neared he saw it stretch and widen until it was larger than a man with his limbs splayed. It filled in completely, its surface slowly swirling like a glowing pool of liquid light. He stopped next to Serah and she gave him a sidelong glance.
“This is the doorway,” she said, indicating the portal of light. “It will take us into the Dark Forest, and Feothon's domain.” She raised her voice then, and the air carried her words unnaturally far. “If there are any who wish not to continue on, now is the time to stop. Turn back and you will be granted safe passage out of the forest, where you can return to your city.” Will heard the hush of thousands of frantic whispers wash over him, and realized that Serah must have had a difficult time convincing all these people to leave their homes. “Just know,” she continued, “that the yaru will return. They always do. And next time, we will not be there to drive them away.”
Without another word she turned and stepped through the portal, Jhai and Zizo close behind her. The light pulsed and made a strange, deep whumpf as it swallowed them, a sound that Will felt deep in his bones, and then they were gone. He gazed at the twisting, churning vortex, and then looked down at Clare. His mind had been made up from the start.
“Listen,” he shouted over the din, and a wave of quiet rolled over the clamoring Ravens and Pradians. “I know you're all scared—I am too. But I think these people are here to help us.” The irony of calling the Titans—his siblings, apparently—“these people” was not lost on him. “Too many people have died already. This place is a safe haven, and I, for one, am going through.” He turned to Castor and gripped his shoulder. “See you on the other side,” he said, and then bent to unhook Clare's litter. The rider driving the horse it was attached to looked frightened, and kept eyeing the gateway nervously. “I'll take her from here,” Will said. “Thank you.”
And then, pulling the litter behind him, he stepped into the light.
The first thing he was aware of were the whispers—they were everywhere, all around him, both close and far away. But un
like the whispering on the wind, these seemed benevolent and helpful. “Keep moving,” one said.
“This way,” said another.
“Feothon awaits you. He—”
“—can save her, but—”
“—you must hurry...”
They kept talking as he walked faster and faster, lending him encouragement. He followed them by sound alone, blinded as he was by the brilliant yellow light. It felt strange, like wading through a fog so thick that it actually hindered his progress. The only thing he had to ground him to the material world was the feel of Clare's litter in his hands, and it was thoughts of her that drove him to keep going—
And then he was out.
The whispers ended abruptly, and he felt the cessation of their dull roar almost as a physical blow that made him sway drunkenly on his feet. After a moment, he opened his eyes and saw...
Trees. Everywhere he looked he saw trees—trees so vast that ten men would not have been able to touch hands in a circle around them. They were tall, too, and try as he might Will was unable to see their tops. Their boughs crowded out the sky, giving the impression of a starless, moonless night; the effect was eerily claustrophobic. He set Clare's litter down slowly, too stunned to move.
But then he noticed something rather perplexing: there was sunlight. It illuminated everything at ground level, shining in great dusty shafts from the depths of the darkness. It played cheerfully across the ferns and creepers that covered the forest floor, and sparkled from the surface of a nearby stream that babbled a soft, soothing murmur.
It was...beautiful. Will could not remember having ever seen anything so picturesque. And in the absence of the gloom he had expected, he could see very far—the trees, spaced wide apart, continued unabated off into the distance, and Will had a strong feeling that the forest went on forever.
“The Dark Forest,” said Serah beside him, and he started, having failed to notice her before. “It has no beginning, and no end.” She looked behind Will then, and he realized that he had completely forgotten about Clare. He whirled around, all of his forgotten anxieties crashing into him once again.
“We have to find Feo...thon...” He trailed off, shocked into silence. Clare was still in the litter. And she was moving—though not of her own accord.
The plants beneath and around her, however, were. They stretched and writhed, unfurling their leafy tendrils and touching her gently, their tiny movements almost ritualistically reverent. It was like watching a mother with her newborn babe, or a Gefanite with a relic of unimaginable worth, and Will shook his head in stunned disbelief. Creeper vines slithered beneath her and slowly began to lift her off of the litter. Will automatically went to kneel down next to her, but Serah stopped him.
“Do not interfere,” she whispered, and he rose warily to his feet. The creepers carried Clare's body a few paces away before gently laying her atop a bed of ferns, which instantly began to grow and curl around her, covering her body with their leafy fronds. The creepers joined in, and soon wildflowers began to sprout up and down her length. Before long all that remained uncovered was her head, and soon that was gone too. Where only moments before there had been a body, there was now a thick mound of vegetation. And then, as abruptly as they had begun to move, the plants stopped. Will thought he could hear a low, throbbing hum similar to the sound the portal had made, but it could easily have been a figment of his imagination.
Serah gestured at the plants. “The Dark Forest is full of wonders,” she said softly. “It has taken her, and now it will decide whether she lives or dies.”
“'Tis my forest,” said a man's gentle voice behind them, and Will slowly turned around. “And I say she lives.”
~
She leans against him, sitting in his lap with her back to his chest and his arms around her. She feels at peace. She is in love. The feel of his bare skin against hers should be enough to excite her, but in the dream she is calm.
“Why do I need to be here?” she asks, the words barely above a whisper.
He strokes her arms with his hands, and when he speaks his breath puffs softly against her hair.
“Because of this,” he answers, and suddenly his skin is very hot. She gasps and struggles to break away, but he holds her. “Stop,” he says gently, and suddenly he is no longer painful to touch. Now the sensation is akin to stepping into a hot bath: delightful, electrifying...arousing. She squirms against him as her heart flutters in her chest, but he seems not to notice. “I have a power,” he says, and the rumble in his chest vibrates against her body. “But there is another like me—my other half, the second part to the equation.”
She attempts to turn around to face him, but he does not let her. “Will...”
“She is the Phoenix Empress.” His words carry a finality to them, a weight that makes her heart sink. “Serah believes she may not exist in this life; she is wrong. I can feel her presence—it hums through my body, stirs my thoughts. Once the Dragon King and Phoenix Empress meet, they are whole—nothing can come between them. It is the way of things.”
Clare feels a single tear roll down her cheek. She does not bother to wipe it away. Her heart is suddenly heavy—leaden in her chest at the realization that she can never be with the man she has come to love so strongly in such a short time. She feels a chill run through her despite the delicious heat.
“Why are you crying?” he asks.
“Because...” she whispers, but cannot continue. She hangs her head. “Please...please let me go.”
“I cannot.”
She turns to face him, and this time he lets her. His eyes are bright, churning crimson, just as they were in Prado, and yet she is surprised to find that they do not frighten her—not as they did before. They seem quiet now, at peace, and she almost fancies she can hear him purring like a contented cat. “We can never be, can we?” she asks softly, searching his face. “You are a god...and I am just a human.”
But, to her surprise, he laughs, and he does not stop for a long while. Finally his gaiety fades away into a soft chuckle, and then he is quiet, staring at her with a smile.
“Why are you laughing?” she whispers.
“I am laughing because I find you humorous.”
“Will, please—”
“I am not him.” The words silence her immediately, and she can only stare at him mutely. “This body is not my own. Perhaps another time, I will explain. But at the moment, we have scant little time left to speak, and speak I must.” He pauses for a moment, looking at her expectantly, and she nods to let him know that she is listening. “You are special, Clare—very special, and very important. Your entire life has been spent preparing you for what comes next.” Not-Will holds her gaze steadily, his crimson eyes piercing deep into her soul. “You know now that Will is the Dragon King. He must be protected at all costs—but so must you.”
Clare begins to grasp his meaning, and she opens her mouth to speak, but Not-Will holds his hand up for silence. “Your life will make sense soon—I promise. When the time comes, you will understand everything.”
“Why do you speak in riddles?” she whispers. “I think I understand you, but...” She shakes her head. “Can't you just tell me true what it is you mean?”
“I am sorry,” he answers, “but I cannot.” He gestures expansively at the rolling fields around them. “This place has too many eyes—too many ears. This tree is a gift from...from someone who wishes to help us. Only beneath it are we safe to speak unnoticed, but even the oak's power is fading.” He runs his hand along the bark, sadness on his face, and Clare notices for the first time that the leaves on the outermost branches are brown and dead. “I dare not risk exposing you,” he whispers. “Too much is at stake.”
Suddenly his eyes flick to the horizon, his lids narrowing, and she follows his gaze. Far, far into the distance, she sees the beginnings of a storm front, and for some reason she feels a thrill of fear run through her. “It is time for you to go,” he says. “This place is no longer safe.”
/>
“Wait,” she says, reaching up to touch his face, “please, isn't there anything else you can tell me?”
He takes her hand and shakes his head regretfully. “Truly, I am sorry. But I can say no more.”
“Then...” she trails off and looks deep into his eyes. “Thank you, I guess, Will—or whoever you are.” A sudden impulse seizes her, and she leans in to kiss him, but his fingertips touch her lips, halting her advance.
“Not in this place,” he says with a knowing smile. “Not with me. It would not be right.”
“But...why not?” she whispers, her eyes falling. “I may never get the chance again.”
He gently lifts her chin. “You will,” he says softly. “Will's feelings for you are the same as yours are for him. Soon you will both realize that.”
“I see.” After a moment she asks, “Will I remember this?”
“Not here,” he says, touching her temple, and then his hand moves down to rest against her heart. “But you will in here.” His eyes take on a distant look. “It is time,” he murmurs. “Sleep now.”
And she fades away into peaceful darkness.
Eleven
The Titans gazed in horror upon the world they had created. The armies of humanity waned against the onslaught of the Dark One's minions, and the Titans wished desperately to help them. But they were creatures of the Void, and the only actions they could take in the material world were indirect. They held council in Ataavtic Vinouac, but anger ruled over reason and their deliberations ran in endless circles.
“He seeks to destroy everything we have created,” said Forod. “This cannot go unpunished.”
“Keth is not a monster,” Koutoum countered. “We made him like this. Can you not see it?”
“He created death! How is that not a monstrous act?”